


Knives, Rats, and Bastards of Dunwall

by Myabers013



Series: The Knife Rat Daughter [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Kidnapping, Knife Dad - Freeform, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Daud (Dishonored), M/M, Rat Dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:03:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myabers013/pseuds/Myabers013
Summary: Daud listens to his better instincts and adds a new member to his ever increasing family of Whalers, while Corvo deals with major heart problems that doesn't include the one he carries around in his pocket. Meanwhile, Emily conflicts with dangerous questions about her true parentage, her right to the throne, and her new makeshift guardians, while surviving the city of Dunwall, both politically and emotionally.





	1. The Knife of Dunwall

Long after, when he could no longer smell the salt of seawater amid the dispersing air, Daud’s marked fist continued to shake uncontrollably. Senses coming to, the assassin took in his surroundings with Billie at his side, and the others filling the room not too long after. In the distance, Daud could hear the sirens blaring across Wrenhaven River, blaring one after another all the way down Kaldwin Bridge. Their efforts were in vain; Daud and his Whalers were long gone, heading in the opposite direction of the sirens destination. 

Including Lady Emily Kaldwin. 

Thomas had been given a good kick in the stomach by the Lord Protector, having left himself wide open after a losing parry, yet he managed to snatch the girl when the time was right. Now the younger male hunches over, his heavy breathing more audible now after discarding his mask when the coast was clear, with Lady Emily cradled in his arms. Her arms fell limp as soon as he settled, with her head slung over his shoulder with considerable care in order to keep her comfortable as possible. Now and then, Leonid shadows over Thomas, eyeing the young girl for signs of discomfort or damage. Rinaldo is busying himself over his wrist bow, looking in any other direction than wherever Thomas was, mumbling into his mask with agitation. Galia kept watch from their entry point through the window they came in, adrenaline keeping her from caving into the injuries riddling her ribs and left arm. Billie fell impatient and ordered them to hurry with their recovery before they can travel again. 

There was no need for it. Among the highest points in the abandoned buildings reeking with stale furniture and plague rats, the group ensured their exit strategy would take them as far away from the commotion as possible. All it took was a favor crossing Kaldwin Bridge—free of the watch—and a diversion that is currently leading those still loyal to the Kaldwin crown towards the Dunwall clock tower. 

While everyone became too preoccupied amongst themselves and their new charge, none of them took notice to their leader’s condition. Normally upright and bestowed with hardened discipline, the Knife of Dunwall instead drifted into a state of stupor, looking down at his hands with widened eyes. There was a ringing in his ear that just would not leave him, the beating of his heart abnormally rapid and painful, with a poisoning thickness in his gut that reeled him. It’s been that way since the Lord Protector had shot a bullet in the air to alert the guards, the younger man’s eyes filled with desperate hope—for the wrong people. And it became worse when her eyes met his as the assassin stuck her with his blade. 

Daud started at his blade with a spare cloth, wiping away the blood from its steal. Her blood. 

Somewhat relieved from the painful surge, Daud turned around in time from Billie touching at his shoulder, who was observing her leader with secretive suspicion. Before affirming her quick gaze, Daud resumes his command, proceeding to lead his men further into the Flooded District until they returned to familiar territory.  
They were greeted by several novices trailing after Feodor, Arden, with Fisher and Montgomery leading the group at the head. As soon as Daud’s team landed, Montgomery was quick to manhandle Thomas towards the infirmary—but he refused to let go of the girl. 

Before turning completely from her stubborn patient, Fisher cried over her shoulder, “All of you, follow! The beds are prepped and ready!” 

Leonid hesitated, raising her hand delicately, “I’m okay. Just a scratch—“

“All of you!” 

Leonid was silent after that and carefully followed after Rinaldo and Galia. Billie stayed behind a little while to continue pestering Daud until he had to growl at her that he was fine. Billie raised a brow, before turning to leave, making it clear she was not convinced in the slightest. 

When the novice’s were satisfied with their prying curiosity to their new guest, the young Whalers were shooed away by Daud before he closed the door to the Infirmary to fully address the situation in a controlled environment. By that point, it was Leonid who now held the young empress as Fisher checked the young girl’s state to ensure that the dose of sleep dart they administered didn’t do anything damaging. Thomas was laid down on his back with his bare chest being pecked at by Montgomery for signs of internal bleeding. Everyone else was fine, even Galia. The entire infirmary replaced what used to be an archiving room of outdated finances and the like. Fisher used the entire room to her advantage, creating what can actually be considered a legitimate establishment. 

“What’s the damage?”

Fisher straightened up and addressed Daud. “Bruised liver. A few scratches. Nothing too extreme to worry over”

“We were lucky,” Rinaldo exhaled. “Outsider’s Cock—we got lucky.” The man started a rapid pace around the center of the infirmary, unable to control the anxiety he could no longer contain. “Galia was nearly gutted, Thomas almost got skewered, and I almost ate shit crossing Kaldwin bridge through the commotion!”

That earned an irritable scowl from Thomas. “I didn’t get skewered!” Thomas scoffed, “I got kicked in the gut…” 

Daud gave Thomas a disappointed look. He had been there in time to see the embarrassing stance his Whaler tried to instill upon the Royal Protector, only to be stomped—literally—flat on his ass. It was the kind of repeated arrogance that seemed to have infected nearly all of his best and brightest, perhaps due to their own master’s invulnerability on countless death-defying endeavors. On that note, Daud had no one to blame but himself for not putting a stop to it. Void, it nearly cost Thomas.

Before he could properly reprimand either of his men, Billie was quick to step in. 

“So, what do we do about this?”

Finally, the entire crew turned their attention to the small form currently resting on one of the spare beddings, her breathing even and resting in a comfortable position under Montgomery’s watchful supervision. Everyone struggled to set eyes on the little girl who would stir and mumble now and then. 

Daud couldn’t hold his gaze on her, and turned away. “We have her until tonight when the commotion is over. Put her in a spare room until then.”

“Not our usual cells down in the Holes?” Billie quipped with indifference. 

Thomas and Leonid glared viciously at Billie. “Really, Billie?” Leonid hissed. 

“Yes, really!” Billie shot back harshly. “This is a job. Get over it!”

“You can’t just toss her in there like that. This is different!”

Billie breathed a haughty laugh before raising her brows at Leonid, clearly amused. “How?” Billed smirked. “How is this different?”

Daud knew the answer that Leonid was conveying just by the atmosphere in the infirmary. 

They’ve never dealt with kids—never hurt kids. It was a sort of unspoken rule that needn’t be said—ironic for a band of cold-blooded assassins that didn’t mind shedding blood for shiny coins. Political rivals, high-class pedophiles and rapists, spurned lovers, and betrayed partners were the common personalities that landed themselves on Daud’s dartboard. Fortunately as of late, business was booming across the streets of Dunwall. 

But kids. . . 

Before a fight could start out in the middle of the infirmary, Daud smoothly cut between Leonid’s and Billie’s eyesight and made it clear that the topic was over. “Put her in a spare room. Feed her when she wakes up, and have her ready for tonight.” Daud turned around, swiftly putting an end to the debate, and made a direct walk to his office. “The sooner this is over, the sooner Hiram Burrows will leave us be at last.”

After reaching his quarters with a welcome reprieve, Daud quickly locked the doors and lit a cigarette for the nerves that refused to leave him, sitting at his desk to wallow in his inner turmoil. He wanted to be left alone to collect himself, and figure out why the sudden guilt wouldn’t fade away. 

Thinking back on it, it started when the Royal Protector decided to return from his mission two days early. Daud had to admit; the young bodyguard was true to his reputation, effortlessly handling himself against three of his best assassins, even against Thomas and Billie. Had Daud felt his intervention wasn’t necessary for the sake of his losing party, would this ugly feeling in his chest not be here? When he stalked toward the Empress and her daughter, blade ready to do what he thought was necessary for the sake of his men, would it still be there? Or when he looked into her eyes as he struck her in the belly, and saw the raw fear she possessed—not for herself, but for the daughter he would steal from her bloody embrace—would it still be there, twisting and boiling his insides? 

Throughout her reign, the empress spent most of her efforts to foreign relations, better trade, the welfare of her people, and yet, when the Rat Plague crawled its way through Dunwall’s sewers, she did not falter. Even when contradictory—treasonous, even—rumors spread about the parentage of the next heir to the throne, all speculations and theories falling upon the Serkonan shadow behind the Empress’ shoulder, she held her head up high. 

Knowing all this, Daud followed through with the contract, which was more of an ultimatum. 

What harm would another dead noble do to his list, Daud had foolishly assumed. How wrong he had been, and the guilt inside him was proof enough. 

Daud lit another cigarette because by the Outsider did he deserve that much. The rotting roof above him let in the cold weather, alerting him that the night was nearing and he needed to prepare. Daud scrunched his brows together and sneered at the thought of having to interact with Hiram Burrows, now Lord Regent—if he heard correctly from the public speakers. 

Feeling that he spent an adequate amount of time to himself, Daud gestured with his hand and pulled Billie to his office to sort out old assignments and potential new clients—as well as countermeasures, just in case the last part of this contract went wrong. 

Later, it was Galia who knocked on his door to update Daud of the young empress finally waking up. Needless to say, her reaction to her new situation was accordingly reasonable. Leonid had spent some time trying to explain to the crying girl they would not harm her, and eventually the little empress kept quiet but didn’t bother to converse further with her chaperones. 

The spare room Leonid patched together was not too far from his quarters, between two full floors his Whalers turned into their own personal apartments and housings. 

There was already a small crowd right outside the empress’ door when Daud found the courage to confront her. Quinn, Dodge, twins Pavel and Petro, were huddled close to the door until the notorious group caught sight of their leader and moved away. Quinn hopped over to Daud’s side and tugged at his coat. 

“Did you bring me anything?” She chirped hopefully, continuing to play at his pockets. 

“It wasn’t that kind of job, but perhaps next time,” Daud regarded the youngest of the female novices patiently. Emily Kaldwin must be about the same age as her.

“Awww,” the blonde-haired girl moaned but relented, stopped pestering him and ran back to her noisy group.

“Is she a new member? She looks so clean”

“Can I name her?”

“Where is she from?”

So many questions, but at least they were the kind Daud would much rather answer than the ones still boggling in his head. He shooed them away, back in the direction of Quinn’s older brother Marco, who was probably waiting for them at the training grounds outside. 

When he stepped into the room at last, he was met with Rinaldo and Leonid at both sides of the little empress, sitting together at the only small table in the room, trying to encourage her to eat an untouched plate of food. Instead, the little girl hung her head and didn’t answer. The room she was in was fairly furnished with extra supplies with a spare bed and a slim closet towards the back of the room. There were several lamps placed around the room, providing warmth to its bleak interior. It was one of their warmest rooms on the third floor; in fact, it used to be Leonid’s old room before she moved in with Thomas on the fourth floor above. 

“Master Daud,” Rinaldo stood from his seat, as did Leonid. Little Emily simply shrunk further into herself when she caught sight of him, and that bothered him. 

“Lady Emily,” Daud greeted, trying his best not to intimidate her—a practice he had been trying to master whenever it came to picking up orphaned street kids or abandoned bastards. He grabbed the nearest chair and sat across from her at the table, openly inviting with an unguarded posture. 

Emily braved a small glance towards the man in the red coat and looked straight back down. Her eyes were puffy and red, filled with fear for the Knife of Dunwall. 

“Do you know who I am?”

Emily slowly nodded her head. His existence is well known among her class.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

It seemed that the girl struggled with that question, likely thinking over why she was being cared for, or fed, or spoken to at all. When she couldn’t settle for an outcome, she shook her head in open confusion and lifted her face expectantly for an answer. 

“I am the assassin, Daud,” He gestured to her current guards. “This is Rinaldo and Leonid, if they haven’t introduced themselves properly yet.”

“I’m plenty proper compared to the rest of these river crust urchins, thank you.”

“Hey!” Leonid became aghast at Rinaldo’s comment. She looked down to Emily. “I’m really nice, I promise.”

Daud snapped his fingers at the two of them before things got out of hand and went back to address the situation. Taking her in now, with better nerves, the young empress instilled noble qualities that must have been ingrained onto her in order for her to live up to her future title. Since Daud walked in, he couldn’t help feeling examined under her watchful gaze. Normally when dealing with her kind, conversations were usually left with snide comments and barks of uppity indifference. 

Instead, Daud was presented with wary politeness, even onto him. This kid, Daud mused. She must have been raised better. 

“W. . .” Emily made an almost whimpering sound, “W-why?” She stared at Daud fully this time. For a short moment, she reminded Daud of Leonid from many years before, crammed next to a broken door under the rain and starving to death. It was the same. Emily seemed to shake with both anger and sadness, trying very hard not to cry. Unable to take it in, Daud resigned himself. 

“I was ordered to.”

“By w-who? Tell me!” 

“Hiram Burrows.”

Emily looked down to her untouched plate of steamed vegetables and hagfish patty and nearly convulsed with anger. “The Spymaster never felt right to me.” Daud couldn’t agree more. Even a child could feel the animosity of that opportunist. “He always glared at me, I don’t think he ever liked me or. . .” Sudden with emotion, Emily almost tripped on her chair as she jumped up—taking Leonid and Rinaldo by surprise. “Wait? Where’s Corvo?”

“I was informed he’s being held in Colridge Prison,” Daud put it as delicately as possible, mindful of Rinaldo’s cautious gestures to ease her in to the situation she’s been forced into. 

“I don’t understand. What for?”

“Hiram Burrows will use him as a scapegoat for his plot. Attano will likely be executed.” Better she knows now than have some other bastard throw it in the poor kids face, her last ally to be killed for a false crime.  
“Executed… ” Emily tasted those words, furrowing her brows in confusion. “People think he attacked mother?”

“Burrows will make it look that way.”

“But you did it!”

“Think.” Daud commanded—not with his usual tone, somehow. “Think hard on what just transpired. Hiram Burrows has ascended the throne as Lord Regent—either permanently or until he deems you malleable enough to shadow your throne.” A toy at his expense, as any sycophant would see a child with rich blood. “This man made absolutely sure that you would have no allies once your mother was dead. Killed, bought, or intimidated with the kind of influence you do not possess. Or your bodyguard.” At her Lord Protectors mention, Emily stiffened. “It is very apparent that man is loyal to the Kaldwin line. Burrows would have been rid of him eventually.”

“B-but I’m the Empress now, right?” As she spoke, Emily struggled to formulate her sentences coherently. “T-that means by right, I’m in charge!” She pointedly looked at Daud with renewed anger—and a dwindling hope. “That means you do as I say! So return me to my tower!”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Helplessly, Emily cried, “Why not!”

“Because that is how a coup works,” Daud finalized, finding this situation to require a more stern approach. He couldn’t coddle her with this subject, or hold back the rasp that passed his lips. “Your throne and power has been stolen by a man whose experience in this game exceeds yours. From this point on you only carry the Kaldwin name to your inheritance.” 

He could see Emily unable to cope with this new information, revealing the helpless child behind the breaking façade of calm. So suddenly and out of nowhere her whole world changed in a matter of hours—and tonight will only make it worse. 

“I’m to escort you to people who will care for you until this ordeal is over. I don’t know how long that will be…” The young empress didn’t respond right away, so Daud continued. “Make sure she eats. We’ll leave in a little while.” He spoke to the two attentive Whalers without really looking at them. He got up to leave to prepare for tonight, until he was stopped in his tracks by that saddened tiny voice.

“Is… is my mother really… dead?”

His back facing her, Daud could only incline his head in her direction. 

“Yes. I saw to it.”

He could feel her face crumble, and with his final words, her body shook until she fell into her seat and sobbed into her hands, unable to contain herself anymore. Had she thought there was a chance her mother survived? In any scenario, any child would hope their parents were incapable of leaving them. 

Rinaldo was quick to pat her trembling shoulders, likewise, Leonid did her best to soothe Emily and stop her from hyperventilating. 

Daud couldn’t have walked away faster, his eyes blurred and that growing fire in his chest rose to his heart and before he could recollect his manner, he found himself punching a hole into a nearby cabinet, damning the self-centered bastard that threw him into this horrible chaos. 

Even after retreating to his office, Daud could still hear Emily Kaldwin’s cries for her dead mother. 

\--

It wasn’t Hiram Burrows that met him at their chosen spot; it had been the Pendleton twins instead. Daud never thought he would say this, but he would have preferred the bald bastard instead. 

The twins were somehow worse in demeanor and their attitudes were revolting in company. They had been blabbering on formalities, women they think Daud should visit to scare—at that point he made a moral effort to tune them out until they retracted to the original topic. 

“So that’s that. Just hand her off to us—“

“—And we give you the payment per Hiram Burrow’s contract.”

“Your contribution will ignite a progressive future for Dunwall’s most prosperous aspects of the city—“

“—The better half, if I do say so myself.”

Behind him, he could sense Billie roll her eyes and scowl at them at every moment they braved a glance in her direction. She retreated back inside the mouth of the sewer, to make sure their charge hadn’t run off. 

Daud excused himself as courteous as can be, because by that point he had very little patience for either of these two trolls. Beyond the twins’ line of sight, Thomas and Galia were waiting for him inside one of Dunwalls more elaborate routes of sewers. The two Whalers stationed themselves near a tunnel deposit end, the tiny empress between them, protected from any potential obstacles and threats. Throughout the short journey inside the sewer maze, Emily walked as quietly as possible next to her captors, meekly glancing around the tunnels and mumbling to no one in particular. She never looked at Daud the entire time, until he started making his way towards her. 

“It’s time.”

Emily’s face turned into a grimace, jumping in place at the echo of his voice. Daud had expected her to run at the earliest opportunity, but couldn’t help the thought of her being smarter than that. Someone her age could easily get lost inside the labyrinth of tunnels and drainage systems, never to be found again. 

The little girl walked behind Daud without a fuss. Just when he was about to turn round the tunnel opening, Daud unconsciously started to absorb the hissings of the Pendleton’s private conversation as he stopped midway to the exit. With Emily distractedly bumping into the assassin’s back, only Daud’s right foot touched the moonlight seeping into the tunnel. 

“What shall we do afterwards, dear brother?”

“Another endeavor to the Golden Cat sounds most intriguing for such a prosperous night,” the other brother—Custis—mused lazily. 

“On the contrary, I find playing nanny to be demeaning,” Morgan whined childishly, “The thought of this brat nagging at my feet is already ruining my night. How am I supposed to enjoy myself when we have a noble bastard to drag around?”

“That depends on your point of view…” 

“How so?” 

From around the corner, Daud could sense Morgan lean over his brother’s shoulder. “Madame Prudence had to toss a fair amount of her plagued employees over the river lately, and I’ve been told she’s desperate for new employment.” It wasn’t the biting wind that sent chills up Daud’s shoulders, or the weathered air coming from the sewer water that brought a sting to his eyes. “I’m sure the little whelp can prove to be more than capable to offer the Madame proper assistance in that regard—not that Prudence would be bothered by age—especially once we break her in.”

“Brother, you don’t mean…” 

“I do. Why waste an opportunity, besides I’ve never fucked a Serkonan before—even if it’s only a half breed.”

Daud heard more than he could stomach, and without a second or third thought to stay his hand, he rightly darted the two lecherous bastards down to the dirt. Emily mustn’t have heard what the twins have said, and kept giving the two unconscious bodies and the assassin’s back a look of shock. 

Meanwhile, Daud looked down at the two nobles with a welcoming thought of burning their bodies with an incendiary bullet. The only thing that kept him from doing so was Hiram Burrows retaliation. So, hard as it was—he left the two deviants where they were, collected his fee that hung loosely from one of the nobles’ belt, and snatched up Emily into his arms before she could roundly protest. 

All those questions that plagued the assassin since the moment he stabbed Empress Jessamine in the chest now came crashing down to the same conclusion to why he was riddled with guilt and remorse. It was the same answer for why someone like Daud would only now feel this way after countless years of slicing open throats and exacting death on the high-class. 

She was different. 

Empress Jessamine Kaldwin was different. And so is Emily. 

Daud knew he will have to live this way for the rest of his life, especially after his next decision of what do with the late empress’ daughter, who will need all the protection she can get. It was fine, as this would be Daud’s only way of repenting. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away from all of this.”


	2. Drowned Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad chapter for Corvo for now, where his perseverance is really put to the test. I'm not going to be too descriptive on torture, for Corvo's sake. Don't worry though, the next chapter will be much more lighter with Papa Knife Dad and Rat Daughter.

The feeling of cold cobblestone against his bruised skin is a blessing to Corvo. The man grimaced as he stared past the faucet water in the moldiest part of his cell. The loud drip of the tap offered a softer tune in comparison to the grind of steel bars and chattering rats climbing the pipes above him. 

Has it really been two months already? Corvo made the mistake of turning in his mid-sleep, and groaned in pain from a new bruise coloring his ribs. 

This all started when he returned home two days early, with the unfortunate position of being the bearer of bad news for his Empress. Corvo had spoken to many lords and physicians during his time away, trying to earn assistance for Dunwall—using the little experience in court relations and political influence his title could afford. He had spoken to some new high-ranking officials, old faces he was familiar with, whoever he could find to help put an end the Rat Plague. How it started? Any history of a pre-existence, or a means to combat it? And while Corvo was no kiss ass by any means—because quite frankly, aside from two faces he left back in Dunwall Tower—Corvo preferred little to no interaction with these kinds of people. A rumor had spread of his muteness, but Corvo simply wasn’t that much of a talker in an environment where words were more suitable weapons than his favored sword or pistol. 

Jessamine was one of the few who understood that, how his upbringings made him humble and appreciative to what the world gave him. He had been a rare creature in Dunwall, and it wasn’t just because of his Serkonan origin. 

Perhaps. Corvo mused solemnly; there were plenty enough days to remember how his foreignness left many hostile and judgmental to his presence. He was the only Royal Protector that was not of Gristolan descent, thus, his existence was often a great topic of scrutiny in court. Some had used it to thread out dangerous theories: a tool of Serkonos undermining the Gristolan crown, or, worse yet, proof of Empress Jessamine’s incompetence. 

So when Corvo knew there was nothing else he could do, he quickly made the arrangements to come home. Futile as his time had been, Corvo knew he wasn’t the only one trying to help the people of Dunwall. He knew the Empress was working furiously at whatever recourses she could get her hands on to stop the Rat Plague from overwhelming her city, her people, and her family. 

Nothing seemed suspicious when Corvo returned, feeling at ease and homesick as he entered the Watergate that raised him to the main gardens where he knew his charge would be. Corvo never thought he’d ever miss the oil-stench of copper steel and black seawater, or the bleakness that has since fallen over the cities of Dunwall itself. Up above the farthest reaches of the grey clouds that hovered the cityscape, the Clock tower’s circular existence glowed akin to its neighboring moon, a warm greeting in Corvo’s direction. 

Corvo felt a pure presence the moment he stepped out into the sunlit early afternoon, as his legs slowly getting used to solid ground. Hearing tiny sprinting in his line of direction, Corvo’s arms were immediately outstretched and waiting for the bundle of giggles and kisses that peppered his tired cheeks. 

“Corvo!”

Corvo could remember Emily’s voice as clearly as he can remember Jessamine’s smile when she caught sight of him, waiting for him under the gazebo. 

Where we declared our feelings for one another. Where I professed my heart would forever be in her hands to carry if she were to accept. 

Corvo held onto the memories of Jessamine’s warmth, the privilege to comb her silken black hair until it was loose between his callused fingers, how her soft lips pressed against his temple behind closed doors, how their hands fit so perfectly with one another. The embraces, conversations, the open smiles, the cigars and brandy they would share, and an heiress who died not knowing whom her true father was. 

Two months and the news of Emily’s death still left an aching hollowness deep inside his heart, as he lay limp on top the cobblestone slab and torn rags that was meant for bedding. 

When Overseer Campbell and Lord Regent Hiram Burrows paid him a visit a couple days later, he didn’t think he could ever despise their voices more than ever. The sight of them as they walked confidently towards him had Corvo in a fit of rage against his restraints. He spat at them for their quick accusations, tried to scream at them the true murderer was still out there, and how stupid they were in handling everything. Corvo thought he couldn’t get more angrier than he had been in that moment, but when the two shared a twisted smile between one another. As they mockingly laughed at his face and continued their game of naivety, their eyes smiling with drunken depravity and greed, Corvo’s sharpened mind finally put two and two together. 

It had been Hiram Burrows who defiantly insisted that it should be Royal Protector Corvo Attano who should leave Dunwall for help. At the time, it made no sense. Corvo didn’t handle politics—never handles politics—for that wasn’t the duties of a Royal Protector. In the back of his mind, slipping with annoyance, Corvo surmised it was an opportunity for the Royal Spymaster to keep the young heiress at a distance with the Royal Protector. 

Overcome with hidden fear of exposure, Corvo left to keep the Royal Spymasters suspicions at bay. Now, he felt stupid for assuming the man to be sharper than his appearance gave off. 

Burrows wanted Corvo out of the way. To keep Jessamine’s last line of defense—and ally—as far away as possible. 

“You bastards!” Corvo howled with unbridle rage. 

“Tut tut now, young Corvo.” Campbell bent down to Corvo’s hunched over level, patting at his cheek with an uncomfortable affection. “You shouldn’t be like that in you current position, otherwise, the Lord Regent and myself might not feel so charitable in sharing some rather heavy news you should be aware of.”

Beneath his locks of hair, Corvo eyed them suspiciously. “What news?” 

“News pertaining to the permanent establishments of Dunwall. As you may very well know, where upon the Empresses’ untimely demise, the next anointed by Parliament favor must step in—“

“If—unfortunately for any of you—the empress did not have an heir to take her place!” Corvo roared venomously. 

“A living heir, yes.” The smile that was aching to creep up Burrows features contorted his façade of veiled affection for the Kaldwin line. A true wolf in sheep’s clothing, now out in the open ready to snatch up the bounty. The glint in Burrows eyes gave way the excitement at the bodyguards reaction, who sat there tied up and pried apart until his resolve gave in to their twisted games. 

“Sadly, in the process of securing the young empress away from public view—believe me Corvo, I didn’t want this to happen,” the bastard made it seem like he didn’t hope for something like this to happen any sooner. “—But the petulant child had caused such a ruckus mid-transport, she fell into the sewers below, taken away by the powerful currents. We assume she drowned, of course.” The undertone of sweet venom at the child’s demise burned Corvo more than any poker ever could to his flesh. 

Corvo exploded then and there, beyond seeing reason to speak carefully.

“Lies! You liars!” Corvo howled. “Animals! You’re more disgusting than the rats that plague the streets!”

Behind his blinding vision, Corvo couldn’t help but picture his little Emily crying out for her mother, her protector, reaching out the thick waters and grime for some form of savior. The mere thought of her tiny form being crushed and tossed out to the exposing elements left the Royal Protector heaving between hitched breaths. 

Corvo could barely make out whatever it was Burrows was trying to illustrate to him. He couldn’t take much more, his chest felt like it was about to explode, and his eyes burned with reddening fury and despair. 

“Now, now,” Burrows tried to cut in between the younger man’s snarling and screams. At one point—had Corvo paid closer attention amid his fit—he would have noticed Burrows visibly creeping farther away from the former Royal Protector. Campbell did the same, when the bindings started to groan at the Serkonan’s erratic attack. “You needn’t worry further, Lord Protector. You’ll be with our fallen empress within the Leviathon’s embrace soon enough.” 

The younger male snorted in a mocking response. “How fitting that you dirty your hands against a restrained man,” Corvo snapped his head up with raw defiance, daring them to exact their deeds. “You were everything I knew you were! I can hardly recognize which is worse, the rat-faced worm—or the lecherous pig!”

Burrows squawked at the comment and bristled with indignation, red faced. “Enough!” He squealed while flailing his arms, rattling the jewels that adorned his fingers, “I am Lord Regent now! I would have you brought out to the yard and shot down like a dog—but a signed confession paper is much more appropriate and quicker to tie up loose ends.”

“And why would I do that!”

“You do realize where you are, yes? Not even the renowned Royal Protector can endure a week here. You will fall into madness.”

“I won’t give in to your games.”

“Then you’ll be tortured here until there’s nothing left of you.” Burrows said it as a matter of fact, expectantly. “Don’t worry though. Once its all over, you’re body will be disposed of appropriately. With any luck, you’ll even end up down the same sewage grave as Lady Emily.”

Corvo hurled a huge wad of spit and snot at the Lord Regents face dead on target. 

The man jumped to wipe away the mess in a panic as Campbell called to the guards. 

Six months. Hiram Burrows cried out as Corvo was dragged back to his cell. Corvo would have six months until his day of execution, unless he signed the false confession papers. Burrows thought Corvo wouldn’t last that long—but two months later, Corvo still left the crafty man’s intelligence in a humiliating fashion. 

\--

At first it was the scathing hate that kept him going, but in between blackouts and losing consciousness, Corvo felt there was something deep in his heart that was giving him strength to keep fighting. It was something that kept him warm from the sheer coldness of this place. When he calmed down and listened to his own beating heart, he felt Jessamine’s soft embrace keeping him whole and sane. 

When he dreamed, it was of better times. 

He recalled a strong memory of Emily hiding from the entire staff, fed up with history classes and etiquette. Corvo couldn’t blame her, as he himself often found the outer quad and lower gardens to be a great breath of stress relief from court matters and social inquiries. 

While the guards and tutors scrambled around the yards and hallways, Corvo walked around with a little extra spring in his step, happy to have something to take his mind off things. He was careful to avoid the sprinting maids that nearly collided in his direction, or the guards crudely brushing passed him calling out for an heiress that clearly did not want to be found. Any one of them could have reported the incident to Empress Jessamine, but his charge made it clear she could not be disturbed while securing relations with representatives hailing from Morley. 

On the other hand, the young empress’ behavior is sure to set an example of her mothers unique doting—the supposed spoiling and encouragement of negative habits—as the Royal Spymaster would put it. 

Corvo made a calm trip to the kitchen below, using the servant’s stairs because he could only take the Royal guards nasty looks for so long. Captain Curnow was away for a family emergency, leaving his unruly soldiers to manage themselves however they may against the ‘Serkonan trophy pet’. 

Corvo rounded straight to the pantry as soon as he entered, which was thankfully empty safe for one kitchen maid and a cook. The two women bowed politely, before returning to their conversation in a rapid heat. Corvo took a whole pan of bread and sliced a few squares, decorating them with mayo, cheese, lettuce, and ham before simplifying a second one off to the side. 

“—I wouldn’t hold it past him to push back our wedding, what with the plague and all.”

“Is it true they’re putting another arc pylon down on Archen road? That’s the shortest route my son takes to get home safely.”

“It would seem so. Those guards were up early in the morning putting the vile thing together. Just looking at it puts me off.”

After cleaning his workstation, Corvo was quick to leave before he could fully involve himself in their conversation. Instead of heading in the direction the War Room where he was so desperately needed, Corvo made a direct U-turn to his personal chambers. 

As soon as the doors closed behind him, Corvo felt a small prick against his side ribs. 

“Hands in the air, bandit!”

Corvo raised his arms compliantly, feigning defeat while holding both sandwiches in the air. He couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face. 

“Oh dear, it appears I’m being robbed.”

The raven-haired girl poked at Corvo’s side again with her makeshift sword—a straight branch, harmless—and started jumping in excitement when her Royal Protector started playing along.

“Gimme yer loot!” Corvo lowered his arms and handed Emily her sandwich, and was mercilessly sliced across his belly for his troubles. “Now, taste death!”

The taller man dropped dramatically to the ground and slumped there unmoving, careful not to land on the drawings that already scattered his living quarters. 

“Ho ho,” Emily hooted hotly, quickly devouring the lunch Corvo made her. It was right about that time. “Another fine bounty for the great One-Eyed Silver Tongue Emily the Quick.”

“I thought it was Three-Eyed Purple Tongue Emily the Quick?”

“Shhh, Corvo! You’re dead, remember.” 

“Apologies.”

Emily plopped down next to Corvo’s side and enjoyed her meal, humming a familiar sailors song as she sorted her mess off to the side. And as much as Corvo would love nothing more than to sing along with her, and enjoy another game of Pirates and Bandits, the staff outside needed to be made aware of Emily’s location. 

“You’re tutors are looking for you.”

Emily ducked her head down, trying to enjoy her sandwich. “I don’t like my new tutor. He doesn’t laugh at my stories and hates it when I read ahead.”

Corvo hummed in acknowledgement, hoping to remain neutral in this manner. From what he was told, the previous history tutor wasn’t well equipped for the little empress’ bewitching energy. Burrows swiftly fired the poor woman in favor of a stricter, no-nonsense instructor. The senior made the mistake of slapping Emily’s hand after she drew a tiny doodle in one of her notes, in front of Corvo’s line of sight. Corvo had half a mind to throw the man out the front door had Jessamine not stepped in to address the instructor accordingly. 

“It is an important subject.”

Emily frowned. “Histories about Piracies, Witches, and Creatures of Pandyssia are better.”

“I can’t argue with that, but you need to return to your studies.”

“Can’t we play a little longer? Or pretend sword fighting?”

“Emily, you’ll worry your mother and that ‘old man’ hasn’t stopped pestering her since the outbreak. Let’s not add to her plate, okay?

Thankful for the consideration this child possessed, Emily nodded in slow agreement before rising from her spot, stick-sword abandoned at her feet. She held out her hand and pulled Corvo to his feet with all her might—with a little bit of help on Corvo’s part. 

They walked together hand and hand, with Corvo quickly munching away at his own meal while the little girl continued to talk away before he finally returned her to the study room to reconvene her lessons. Corvo would be alone yet again afterward, left to debate whether he could find another task to procrastinate in—or drag his feet to the War Room where he was required. 

Regardless, the recollection of those small memories was what kept Corvo from caving into the abuse that never seemed to end. 

\--

Another episode occurred after losing consciousness from pliers to his skin, and the former bodyguard is left swimming through another memory.

Once when Emily was much smaller, she caught a fever during the Month of Clans. Corvo assumed it had been due to the young girl walking around in the rain while barefooted—a mistake on his part, he humbly admitted to. The other—more crude—party angrily exclaimed it had been when Emily was playing with the children outside the palace. 

With children among the higher class to be of extreme rarity, Emily had little to no other company other than her mother, protector, and her caregivers. So when Emily sat her curious gaze upon a small group of children playing with chalk during her first exposure to the public, Corvo couldn’t bring himself to stop the bubbly excitement that vibrated the child to leap off her carriage and dart her way towards a promising expedition. 

It was only for an hour. And then Corvo was forced to retrieve the little heiress, who by then was covered in chalk from head to toe. 

Now, Burrows paranoia panicked Corvo into believing those suspicions could possibly bear truth, as Emily’s coughing became more coarse and rough. At that point Corvo couldn’t bear to be at the little girls side, punishing himself by staying as far away from her as possible. Jessamine found him later in the mid-afternoon sulking in the shadows; they sat together at a long window watching the outside rain, as the overhanging clouds grew nearly pitch black and moaning with the wind. 

“It’s not your fault,” Jessamine tried to reassure. “Emily was so happy.” 

“I shouldn’t have let her out to play for so long.” Corvo stabbed at himself mercilessly. “If anything happens—by the Void… “

“She is stronger than she looks, and I can’t help but wonder where she gets it from.” Jessamine soothed him with short words, her voice velvet with calm and collect. “Come.” Her firm grasp tugged him from the shadows and into the open glow of the palace lights. Jessamine whispered to her Royal Protector with private affection, “Your daughter is calling for you.”

When? Corvo inwardly begged. When can we tell her the truth? When can he look into those desperate eyes and share the truth that little girl so wanted to hear. 

It’s too soon. His empress would try to appease. Too soon to share a heavy burden, a secret that is overly mature for a six year old to comprehend the weight of. 

Emily’s face softened at the sight of Corvo’s frame producing into her room. Her arms reached for him, and were received far too quickly into his embrace. As he cradled the six year old with gingerly care, the little girl coughed quietly into his shoulder. 

“I want to see the rain,” little Emily croaked after a wet sniffle. “Please?”

Jessamine allowed it, evaluating the fresh air will do her daughter good. 

Wrapped in an extra blanket, Corvo transported Emily out to an open window not too far from her room or the Royal Physician temporally stationed down the hallway. As the man sat crossed legged on the floor to give Emily extra comfort, the little girl peeked her nose out of her quilt cocoon and smiled at the rain. Jessamine stood over them as they viewed the weather, her left hand resting a delicate touch to her lover’s shoulder, enjoying the near extinct privacy this secret family could savor. 

The following morning, the little girl came over her cold with rapid recovery, ready to throw on her winter outfit so she could jump in the rain puddles outside. 

\--

Corvo was thrown out into the torrid elements of the rainwater that never seemed to end. He felt the hard pelts of heavy raindrops as he forced himself back up—only to have a boot stomp back down on his back, slapping him back down to the mud. 

“Sorry, Lord Protector,” Corvo tasted the sneer behind his back and grit his teeth. “Didn’t see you there.” 

Considering Corvo was going on three months of daily beatings and bi-weekly visits to the Royal Executioner himself, his back really didn’t need that onslaught.

“Here, let us help you up, son.”

Before inhaling a breath full of sour air, Corvo was yanked to his feet with vicious hands that molested his cut flesh. He couldn’t stifle the wail that escaped his lips as one of the guards snatched his head up so he could see who would join them out in the courtyard to day. 

If Corvo wasn’t starved, he was beaten. And if he wasn’t beaten, he was tortured. Today was the usual—except this time there was a smaller group of guards that started to surround the man they believed killed their beloved empress. 

Picture them. Corvo prayed to himself inwardly. Picture their love. 

“So who wants to go first today?”

“Thorpe, you wanna give the traitor a taste of steel?”

From the corner of his view, Corvo could see the slightest movement of a grimace describing the hesitant Officer. 

“This is what you brought me out here for? We need to get back to work.”

“Who do you think gave us our break so early?” the louder man next to him elbowed his comrade in the shoulder. “Campbell said it himself this is a no strings attached deal. No one will report us for what we do.”

“This is what you’ve all been doing this whole time?” Thorpe cried out, slowly backing away from the disturbed larger group. 

“You’re either in or you’re out.” The paler man that restrained Corvo’s right arm scoffed. “Just watch if you want to stick around.” The officer nodded off to a guard standing in the middle of their tight knit group. “Go for it, Cotton. Let’s teach this traitor a few lesson before he’s chum for the hagfish.” 

A man started at Corvo—presumably Cotton—and readied his arm back. Corvo had enough time to steal his nerves to not make a sound as he felt knuckles connect with his face, splitting his already chapped lip. 

Through a series of blows to his ribs and stomach, Corvo tried to picture himself in the past. Struggling to keep his mind stable, Corvo mustered a faint memory of Emily demanding him to teach her how to fish in the quarry during a summer picnic. 

A sharp kick to his left side had Corvo doubling over and vomiting into the wet mud at his knees, his lungs struggling to keep the air from being knocked out of him. He heard screams and hoots down on his back to get up, but Corvo’s senses were too blurred for him to formulate their sentences coherently, his fingers have gone numb from the cold and he shook violently at the worlds harshness. 

“Get up, you dog!”

“Serkonan beast!”

Corvo clawed at the memory of holding Emily for the first time. She had her father’s eyes. 

Something deep inside—dormant and suffocating—began to boil within the torn man, slowly breaking the chains that tolerated this persecution in vain. Breath caught and uneven, Corvo clenched at the muddy ground with resurfacing animosity. 

Emily’s first injury after climbing a tree left her terrified of the outside world with a sprained ankle. Corvo taught her how to climb walls and other obstacles to quell that fear—soon after; nothing could stop her from reaching new heights. 

“Traitor.”

“Get up!” Another kick to his ribs was meant to encourage the order. “We’re not done yet with you.” 

The ensuing laughter smothered whatever prayers and self-encouragements Corvo tried to muster to keep his perseverance lit. He bit at his own bloodied lip as the rain fell down his cheeks with the hot tears that spilled. Corvo heaved again, he thinks at some point one of the men punched at his throat more times than necessary. 

“For being not much of a talker, he sure does know how to follow commands. Even if he is a little slow.” 

“Not slow enough to jump into the Empress’ bed, from what I hear!”

There was a thunderous encore of guffaws, as the guards’ faces twisted into grotesque smiles and sneering, too preoccupied to realize the fire that now burned through the Royal Protectors sharpening eyes. 

Cotton was too busy trying not to piss himself with laughter to see the fist that knocked him back two feet away from the scene, swiftly knocking the bastard out cold and choking on his own bloodied nose. 

Memories of dancing with Jessamine late in the night started to burn away with the anger that started to eat at Corvo’s heart and consumed his shaking body to rise up to his feet and start tearing at the men before him. Blindly, but not without purpose, Corvo started at the first person he could get his hands on. The guards would try to hold onto the younger man, attempting to regain control of the situation, but the snarling inmate managed to rip himself away and kick and punch whoever tried to get in his face again. 

He didn’t know how long it would be after that, but by the time Corvo came to, he lost feeling in his bloodied fists, gasping desperately for this world to restart itself so he could go back—back to happier times. 

Officer Thorpe witnessed the entire scene. 

His fellow officers, who shouldn’t have done this to begin with, were all left on the muddied grounds with their prides ripped rightly apart. One man was face down twitching and wailing at his arm being twisted back. Another man was trying to stop his tongue from bleeding out all its blood when his jaw was slammed shut. 

Thorpe watched as the former bodyguard at the center of all this chaos slumped his shoulders and dragged himself to turn around and give Thorpe his full attention. Without realizing, Thorpe reached out and collected the cursed man into his arms and fell with him to the ground, cushioning Corvo’s body from crashing. 

Corvo could make out the pity the older man spared onto him, while slowly regaining his mind from the adrenaline that burned every fiber inside him. Corvo looked past the man—and, tired of holding in the grief and pain, proceeded to weep to the grey sky above while cursing this awful world to the Leviathan’s wrath. 

\--

“Dada?”

“No, Love. Corvo. Cor-vo.”

“Dada!”

“It’s Corvo…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and kudos are a great source of motivation. I enjoy talking about this AU and ship. Like I said before, the next chapter will give Emily an opportunity to get to know her new guardians-and maybe a decent childhood?
> 
> Cheers!


	3. A New World

Oddly enough, it was the Flooded District that was the liveliest part of Dunwall these days. The sun breached the clouded weather in earnest, its bleak appearance bidding little encouragement for the inhabitants residing inside the dwindling buildings to start their daily routine. River Crusts rested listlessly under the morning fog until rays of light stirred their sensitive attention to the growing activity that surrounded them; murky waters and abandoned belongings from previous inhabitants provided a stable enclosure and a natural ecosystem. The submerged streets kept the hard-shelled crusts at bay, the hagfish had something to maul their jaws into—and the Whalers had obstacles to jump and maneuver around for practices and games. 

Above a small cluster of River Crust—hissing and spitting for being disturbed—two swift shadows displaced and transversed across the wide alley gap with ease, made possible by the magic afforded to them by their leader. It was one of many secured alleyway gaps that followed an abandoned railing meant for fuel transportation when times were easier. Now it served as a secondary route for the Whalers to come and go through the back if necessary. 

It was Geoff and Quinn’s older brother, Marco, on their way out on separate contracts. Marco had woken Quinn in a rush, telling her goodbye for now and letting her know when he should return by, behave while he was away, stay out of areas that weren’t cleared—and most importantly, listen to Daud. Wrapped in a blanket with fresh wavy bed hair to keep her eyes sheltered from the morning sun, Quinn tiredly waved her brother off before turning back, taking her time down a makeshift path. Consciously self-aware of her stomps against the metal raft, Quinn clomped a dance down the path, happy to disrupt the quiet alleyway with her antics. One particular clatter to a rustic sheet of metal sent a neighborly hagfish to splash the surface water in a panic, disappearing into the trashy waters below. If the weather were a bit brighter and the water less harmful to her bodily person, Quinn would incline to a quick excursion that was long overdue. 

There was one particular brown armoire, peppered with bolts from a previous game and a broken left door that gave it an endearing quality. It was one of many pieces of furniture that littered the broken streets of the Flooded District, and Quinn had been meaning to drag the intriguing treasure from the muddied waters and turn it into another piece to her secret base she was trying to put together. She hadn’t a clue what could be inside the forgotten closet, the thought itself providing immense curiosity and hope that pulling the damn thing out would hold more than one benefit to Quinn’s advantage. 

Nevertheless, as hard as it was, Quinn couldn’t be late for today. 

It was the beginning of the month of Rain. 

Fixing her blonde hair up into a messy bun, Quinn expertly jumped up the rafters and over a broken architecture column right into the third floor, walking through the open window to get in. Softly making her way towards Marco’s apartment room, Quinn heard footsteps both above and below her floor; alerting her to hurry into her brother’s apartment, fetching her clothes and boots rapidly. As she threw on her jacket, Quinn nearly tripped over Petro’s leg while also trying to avoid crashing into Pavel and Dodge’s mattress on her way out. Dodge’s bedding was already empty and neatly folded, having left at the same time as Marco to receive his chores for the new month. 

Quinn hurried her way down the staircases and to the main mess hall where there was already a small group listening attentively to what Tynan and Montgomery were communicating. Creeping her way up to see if she caught up to Dodge, Quinn caught Tynan’s gesture to move upfront and center, and was relentlessly handed a list of responsibilities that left the pale girl wide eyed in astonishment. 

“Sweeping the second and third floor for this building--that includes mopping and wiping the floors! You’re on laundry as well”—Quinn’s mouth dropped—“Afterward, you’ll help Domenico with the dinner hours—you’ll have Dodge with you,” Tynan added to assuage the novice’s comical expression. 

Quinn groaned, although she was expecting a harsher list for understandable reasons; hard it was to admit. Last month, Quinn and her entourage had snuck in two stray wolfhounds. One of the novices must have forgotten to close the door, because the dogs escaped Marco’s closet and proceeded to lay everything in their path in utter chaos. The hallways were riddled with fur, slobber, and feces, with the smell of wet dog that was interpreted as a middle finger to those that tried to catch the mutts. In the end, the entire building had to be cleaned out, and it took a couple of days for the smell to clear out. 

Daud was too angry to reprimand the four of them, safely fuming in his office, leaving it to Tynan to properly discipline them. Before he left them at their senior’s mercy, Daud swore he’d make a worthy punishment that rivaled Rinaldo’s intense training regimen. 

So this must have been it. 

Tynan was ready to send Quinn away to get started, before he caught himself prone. He snatched at Quinn’s coat hoodie, nearly choking the kid in the process. 

“You choffer!” Quinn half squealed-half choked. 

“Forgot something, little’un. Come with me.” Tynan spoke in nonchalance, dragging Quinn to the main kitchen, where Domenico was finished cooking the last of the eggs and sausages for the early risers. The tanned skinned man turned slightly to observe the two enter his quiet domain, deadpan. 

Tynan perked up to Domenico’s presence, “Mornin’.”

Domenico inclined his head, serving plates of eggs and sausages ready to be taken. The two exchanged a quick flurry of words and pleasantries while Quinn looked on forlornly at a distant pile of dishes that will surely be there in the afternoon, waiting for her. Each one had her name written all over their chipped greasy surfaces. 

Before she could react, two plates of breakfast were shoved into Quinn’s hands. Confused, Quinn was about to make a remark before Tynan waved away her comment while leading the novice girl out to an expectant Leonid. There must have been something going on, if Leonid’s anticipatory expression didn’t already give it away, that left Quinn nervous that perhaps her assassin master wasn’t done dishing out his punishment. 

“Follow me. Master Daud has a quick job for you.”

\--

No matter how hard she tried, the lasting ache of loneliness hovered over Emily’s heart even when she slept. Twisting around in two thick layers of blankets, the bed frame groaned defectively in the quaint room, contrast to the soothing hums of lanterns casually placed around the barren flooring. The familiar stench of rotting wood and wet rain alerted Emily’s senses with casual ease, she crinkled her nosed and buried her face further into what little warmth the old blankets could provide. 

Not that far away, a small table with a plateful of blood ox sausage and steamed vegetables remained untouched and left forgotten from the night before. It had been placed there by one of the people—Galia, Emily quickly remembered—who exited the room with a promise to take the young empress out today for a walk. While Emily preferred to remain in this rotting room away from her captors, there really wasn’t much for her to do here, undeniably enticed by the idea to roam the grounds somewhat freely. Around the area were clutters of books and scraps of paper for Emily to keep herself from going bored. There were a few novels Emily took a liking to almost immediately, but the blank pieces of paper afforded more comfort and normalcy for the empress. 

Flushing with a new surge of energy, Emily removed herself from her bed with an angry screech and set out to prepare herself for today before someone—not Galia—came for her a little later after she just put on some spare boots and finally succeed in buttoning up her white long sleeve tunic. 

“Lady Emily,” the older man bowed politely. If Emily weren’t so observant, she wouldn’t have noticed how the blonde man made himself as open as possible. While not a frequent visitor, Emily only recognized the man from his Glasgow Smile to recall his name to be Thomas. 

“W-where’s the lady from yesterday?” 

Somehow the question caught Thomas off guard, as he gave her a quizzical face before softening. “Ah—I think you mean Galia,” he deduced. “She’s away for a job.” 

“Oh.” The knowledge of these people continuing their murderous business didn’t settle well with Emily’s conscience, but she knew better than to voice her complaint. 

“Do you want someone else?”

“Oh—um—I don’t know,” Emily stuttered, embarrassed. “It was always Galia… to keep me company. She said she would take me out for a walk today.”

“We can still go for a walk, if you’d like?”

Emily tucked her chin into her chest, not sure how she felt about that. Since her arrival, the only people who’ve kept her company were Galia, Rinaldo, and Leonid—Emily remembered quickly. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for Emily to get used to her new chaperones. Rinaldo would read her stories if he had the time, and Leonid was Emily’s shoulder to cry on during those first few weeks in her new residency. There were also smaller moments when that man came in to check on her, but Emily could never find the courage to speak to him when he tried to interact with her, his presence still as scary and intimidating as ever. 

Last month, an incident had occurred a floor below hers when several wild wolfhounds were let loose around the building and ruined the interiors. Emily was temporarily moved out of her room for the day to ensure each apartment was cleaned out, and spent the next several agonizing hours in the man’s office while her guards cleaned out the floor. Thankfully there were pens and paper waiting for her as soon as she arrived, and the man didn’t bother Emily in her corner while he dealt with other matters a few feet away, scolding several people outside while Emily focused her world around drawing crows. 

The only time he spoke to her that day was whether she was hungry, or if she wanted more paper. Emily could hear the anguish in his voice; braving a few glances in the scarred man’s direction to detect the torn expression defining his features. 

_I’ll never forgive you._ Emily remembered screaming at the top of her lungs the night Daud brought her back to Central Rudshore. She continued to weep into Leonid’s embrace after tearing herself away from him at last, refusing to ever look at his face again. 

A knock on the door broke Emily’s moment of reflection, observing after Leonid and a younger girl walking inside, both holding plates of food. That air of anxiety weighing over Emily’s tiny shoulders dissipated at the sight of Leonid’s familiar sharp face. The younger girl was as confused as Emily upon sight; the two of them share eye contact and equal measures of examination before the girl was nudged forward with her offering. 

“Lady Emily, this is Quinn.” Leonid introduced, smiling. “Quinn, this is Emily.”

Emily continued to stare at the dirty blonde girl with further scrutiny, more so perplexed at the discovery there were children here of all places. There were never any children to play with whenever Emily attended private banquets and scheduled greetings, only Corvo to soothe her awkward existence. The girl portrayed herself as energetic and lively, wearing the same tattered blue jacket as the former heiress, hopping in place impatiently, and before Emily could fix her face from sullen to hopeful—she was given a soured face and a stuck-out tongue in her direction. The sudden outburst shocked Emily, and it made the elfish girl howl with laughter. 

That earned a smack to the back of the head from Leonid. “Quinn, don’t start!”

“I just wanted to cheer her up a little bit!” The girl laughed joyfully, putting the plates on the single center table where Thomas was already sitting, busying himself with one of the books Emily was provided. 

Emily sat across from the girl, a little more wary at her guest’s sporadic actions.

“You’re the one Daud brought back months ago, huh?”

Emily nodded cautiously, starting at her scrambled eggs while scooting the bacon from touching each other. “Yes…”

“How come you don’t come out for supper hours?”

Falling under pressure as the center of attention, Emily sputtered with her words. “I-I don’t know anyone.”

“You know Daud, though!” How the girl thought Emily would ever want to be near her mother’s killer left her without words to express her disgust. “Thomas and Leonid, too!”

As sharp as a Serkonan songbird, Leonid spared Emily a warm expression, sensing the little girl’s agitation across their tiny dining table. “We can go out when you’re ready, Lady Emily.”

The four continued eating their breakfasts at their own paces, Emily keeping her head down, Quinn humming a foreign tune, while the older adults shared a rather loving conversation. It reminded Emily too much of her mother and protector. 

“Who did your hair today?” Thomas flirted casually, scrambling the eggs with the sausages. “Couldn’t have been Galia.”

“It was Akila this time. It’s a Serkonan style.” Leonid played with her side-braid, which finished as a ponytail just past her collarbone. Emily recognized the style, enamored by the netting design constructed to the woman’s midnight black hair. Corvo used to do that for Emily’s mother when they did not have to attend public events, this snippet memory weighing over Emily’s mood. 

Pesky Quinn took note of Emily’s droopy face, put two pieces of bacon above her lips, and made a face at the raven-haired girl. 

Taken aback yet again, Emily couldn’t comprehend the other girl’s actions and wasn’t sure how to respond to her kind of play. Regardless, Emily wasn’t about to be stepped over so easily and carefully put her own piece of bacon between her brows, compelled to the challenge. The girl started another fit of laughter at Emily’s response, delighted by the empress’s foreplay, and her spirit instantly infected Emily. 

Thomas shared a look with Leonid, both content at the display. 

“Lady Emily.” Leonid’s beckoning snatched Emily’s attention instantly. “We can still take that walk, if you like?”

“Where would we go?”

Emily’s reply gave the sharp woman a flicker of hope behind those green eyes. “Not far. We can give you the full tour of the area, but we can’t go past the Rail Station.”

That was fine for Emily. The former heiress recounted visiting the now flooded district when she was much younger, how vast and boisterous it used to be prior to its unforeseen collapse. Now that it was empty, moderately accessible for games and exploration, Emily was a little more excited for the start of this dreadful month. 

“You want ‘a come to training instead?” Quinn finally piped in—or barked—bacon mustache still intact. “You could join in, that is… if you’re brave enough.”

Emily’s bacon frown deepened. “I’m _plenty_ brave, actually.”

“Prove it!”

Emily looked to Thomas desperately, wanting to prove this nonbeliever wrong, all traces of previous melancholy gone. “Am I allowed to go to that?”

Thomas answered instantly, his smile brightened over the angry scar across his cheeks. “Of course, it’s nice outside anyways.”

Taking her senior’s proclamation as an immediate invitation, Quinn jumped off her seat to snatch Emily’s hand and pulled her out of her seat. There was little time for Emily to protest out of the exuberant girl’s grasp. “Let’s go now then!” Quinn exclaimed. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Today’s supposed to be fun for the novices today!”

“Wait for Thomas!”

Emily’s vivid chaperone groaned irritably and hopped in place, Emily’s hand still her in grasp. Enthused by the appealing change of atmosphere, Emily jumped along to Quinn’s beat as the pair waited for Thomas to finally emerge, throwing on his coat over his shoulder after giving Leonid a peck on the lips. 

“I’ll take care of the dishes afterward. Inform Daud of the good news while I drop them off to Rinaldo.”

With that, Thomas ran after the little group creeping away from him before they could make it down the stairs below. 

\--

Daud was in the middle of sorting out location updates on a large map describing Dunwall city stabbed across his office floo, planting markers and tacks regarding the locations of the whalers he sent out for work today. 

A blue tack for Galia—north of the Estate District, pursuing an aristocrat who pissed off the wrong noblewoman. 

A bottle cap for Fergus and Arden—investigating the whereabouts of a missing noble child of an esteemed family. 

Another red tack for Misha—sent away to settle a debt dispute. It is the novice’s very first mission, so Daud expected a timely return else he send one of his lieutenants to assist and/or recover her. 

There were several other caps meant to be placed on the board, but for now Daud had to sort out the paperwork from the notes, and the notes from the pieces of papers littered with drawings and sketches. Emily had left them behind in a hurry when she was told her room was cleaned out, eager to jump into Galia’s arms to walk back to the neighbor building. Rather than torture the girl with more awkward conversation, Daud said nothing regarding the paper, scooping the drawings together and piling them on his desk for later keeping. Billie will make herself present afterward, and whenever she eyed that pile, she snickered a comment under her breath. 

Enjoying what rare privacy he had these days, the master assassin inclined in his chair with a fresh cigarette in hand, musing over the past few months since the day he assumed custody of Emily Kaldwin. 

When he returned to the Flooded District with an heiress in his arms, he was met with understandable scrutiny and a flurry of questions from his subordinates. Daud acknowledged the concern that was presently obvious around the office, the faces of his lieutenants and seasoned novices equally apprehensive. The lack of insubordination gave Daud some measure of relief, but nevertheless he knew without use of words or body language the inner fear within his men—that present fear of the horrible consequences brought upon them by their leader’s deal with a snake. 

“Wasn’t that part of the deal? Drop her off and Burrows would leave us be?” Tynan debated adamantly. “After what we’ve done… we might as well finish it through, right? _—Right?_ ”

Between the sharp questions and the sense of weariness surrounding the overcrowded office, Billie’s voice pierced the room easily. 

“It’s not a bad idea to have an edge against the newly appointed bastard,” came that calculated deduction, cold and icy as expected from Billy Lurke when it came to unfinished business. “The scandal itself would kill the man over before the Royal Executioner could get his hands on him.” 

At that time Daud wasn’t sure if what Billie contributed was meant to defend her leader’s actions, or assert her own semblance of influential dominance. The scarred man still wasn’t sure, just as unsure if keeping his new weeping charge was credibly appropriate. 

Before leaving, Daud left the difficult task of threatening the Pendleton twins into silence to Thomas. Despite the young man’s kind disposition, there belied a threatening killer willing to use any means necessary to get a job done—if need be. His whaler made it very clear what would happen to either of the two nobles should Daud catch wind of rumors regarding Emily’s survival, providing a believable fabricated story of her demise that was nobody’s fault—while stroking over the appeal of not having to babysit a child throughout the Lord Regent’s long lasting reign. Daud was not surprised to how quick the Pendleton’s took the deal. A small part of him had wished they refused, so that Daud had reason to go back and put a bolt between their eyes. In the other building, where the vast majority of his whalers made their living quarters and personal spaces, Leonid was soothing a crying Emily to sleep in her new room. 

Thereafter, life became a little more complicated for the Knife of Dunwall, juggling between keeping his whalers fed and safe from the sudden rise of the rat plague, while coordinating the flourishing business in contracts left at his figurative doorstep since the Lord Regent’s rise to power. And since that day, Daud has been unable to reach for his blade, his unmarked hand constantly shaking at its cold touch. Whatever ailment was taking over his instincts, Daud strictly kept it to himself. The last thing he needed was Billie lurking over his shoulder, or Fisher’s doctoral examinations probing at his discomfort. Daud has been meaning to address this in the privacy of his own domain, but when rumors of Weepers were to be deported to the Flooded District, the man switched over his worries solely to the Whaler’s wellbeing. 

Burning at the top of his amounting troubles, the scarred assassin was left to figure out what to do with the little girl he directly orphaned. 

The dethroned Kaldwin took to the change of scenery in stride as Galia and Rinaldo kept him updated about her health. Sometimes, when Daud felt brave, he would pay the young girl a short visit just to check on her himself. He had done the same for Yuri, Pavel, and Petro—spirited away from dark alleyways and desolate riverbanks. Yuri literally devoured whatever Daud gave her, which was more than what her mother or a garbage bin would spare. Petro and Pavel feared everything outside their tight-knit companionship—thankfully Marco and Quinn took them in and slowly their individual personalities became more distinctive. 

Street kids were easier to wean into a new life, especially when their old ones were nothing but shit. They were easy for Daud, he related to their misfortunes and streetwise natures, but purebloods like Emily Kaldwin were an enigma. 

She would shrink at the sight of him and start to shake in a panic at his sudden movements. During a desperate moment, Daud almost went to lay his gloved hand atop the girl’s head as a sign of distant comfort, like he had done for Leonid and several of the novices—desperate to show Emily he meant no harm. Daud gave in though, resigning himself to her rejection. 

Then again, the heiress acted with more accordance than any typical kid her age. By the Void, she has more manners than anyone else in the entire building. Whenever they conducted a few words with one another, the young Kaldwin beheld a strict behavior, perhaps out of reflex. 

“Master Daud.”

His age must be catching up to him, because Daud didn’t hear Leonid walk into his office until he heard soft disciplined footsteps stopping at his desk. Hiding his surprise expertly, Daud regarded the Whaler. 

“You were right. Quinn’s… personality rubbed off on Lady Emily.” The pregnant relief in the woman’s voice was evident. “She practically tore Emily out of that room without any issue.”

Daud shifted in place, sorting through his paperwork aimlessly, attempting nonchalance. “No surprise. I can’t imagine her meeting anyone her own age among sycophantic pure bloods.” Quinn must be quite the anomaly to little Emily. 

“They will be attending one of Rinaldo’s training sessions.” 

“And?”

“You don’t have a problem with that?”

“Can’t have her sit around and do nothing,” Daud admitted firmly, starting a new pile of old papers separate from the new. “Rules are simple here. You pull you’re weight however you can.” 

“She seemed enthusiastic with the exercises, maybe she’ll show promise as a recruit.” Leonid tried to smolder, not convinced by her leader’s uncharacteristic quick acceptance. 

The idea of Emily training as a deadly assassin never once crossed Daud’s mind, he’d rather have her somewhere else practicing something less lethal and compromising. Then again, what good would that do for someone like Emily Kaldwin? Self-defense training, especially under Rinaldo’s tutelage, will give this Kaldwin a better chance in this world than her own mother. 

And since Emily’s residency with the Whalers is indefinite, Daud didn’t see reason to refrain the girl from attending the classes. 

“I have no issues with it,” the assassin said at last, shuffling a cigarette to his lips to end the conversation. “If she shows feasible talent, I’ll see to her.”

\--

Emily landed flat on the mattress with a loud thud and a cloud of dust. Above her, Quinn and Dodge crouched on the thin plank with expertise, looking down at the new trainee with concern. 

“You didn’t make it.”

Emily wanted to spit a really good curse word towards the two participants above her for stating the obvious, but coughed up dust particles instead. 

To the novice’s surprise, they watched as the Kaldwin got up right away and ran back to the starting point of the track that trailed the elaborate rows of planks towards the highest point of the setup. At the final mark stood Rinaldo, standing prostrate at the highest point, watched over the novices with great criticism. When he caught sight of Emily’s rather clumsy slip on her own two feet, the dark skinned man was quick to bark his disapproval, dreadlocks flowing with the wind. 

“Moves like that on a rooftop will land you with a broken neck on these filthy streets. Keep your balance even, kiddo!”

Emily jumped back on the painted plank and started at the routine again, careful to keep her feet from knitting together the same way from before, her goal for now to catch up to Quinn and Dodge. Leading the small pack of eager novices was a tall red head named Walter, a mute boy. The others spoke to him in sign language, another skill Emily will be expected to learn should she decided to continue. Behind her was a smaller girl named Yuri, an abandoned refugee from Tyvia. She smiled cheerfully at the older girl and waited patiently for Emily to reach the first segment of the elaborate path. 

At first Emily was hesitant to participate in the activity, but was tempted by Quinn’s pestering and Rinaldo’s encouragement to give it a try. It took several attempts at testing her footing and finding her center of balance for Emily’s tenacious personality to finally come alive to start maneuvering across the path set up around Rudshore’s Waterfront. What’s more, there were more kids her age to interact with. 

After reaching the second path, Emily’s reflexes became more keen on the slimmer planks nailed sideways so as to make the third trail as tricky as possible. Right ahead of her, Dodge and Quinn waited for Emily to reach them. 

“Keep your arms out and start to crouch your posture.”

Emily nodded to the voice, focused entirely on the plank giving her the most problem. Focused, the little girl’s strength renewed in vigor. Weeks in her room left Emily aching for activity, and now she had an outlet to let it all out, something to keep her mind off the loss she had to endure. 

Farther in the back of her subconscious, Emily recounts her Royal Protector’s lessons. 

Remember, use the environment to your advantage. Adjust to your surroundings. 

Slowly, carefully, Emily moved through the planks while mindful of her weight and posture. When necessary, the raven-haired girl would stretch her arms if the plank started to wobble, and adjusted to the friction until she understood her footing and proceeded. Quinn makes a comment in Emily’s direction, but she does not catch it, too in tuned to her senses to be hindered by outside distractions. The next plank is curved purposely, requiring a different course of action. 

“Head up, kiddo! Learn to trust your feet!”

Picking her head up, Emily felt soreness at the back of her neck, realizing she kept her head down for too long. In front of her, Dodge sat next to Walter at the final point of the path while Quinn was about climb up and join them. 

Emily wasn’t that far away now. She’s almost there. 

In the distance, Emily hears Thomas’ voice to her left. “Atta’ girl, Emily!” 

Brimming with firm conviction, Emily twisted her hip along the curves of the plank, planting her right foot to what she thought would work in her favor—her weight counteracted her left foot, weak and awkwardly placed. Gravity brought Emily back down, and despite two layers of spring mattresses to cushion her fall the impact stunned the little girl flat on her back. 

While Emily fixed her hair out of her face, she heard displaced air ripping apart as Rinaldo warped next to frazzled girl. 

“You okay, kiddo?”

“Uh huh,” Emily managed, not at all discouraged by her failure. A little frustrated, yes, but nonetheless Emily was having too much fun to let something like this dampen her day. Meanwhile, Rinaldo hovered over Emily, concern written all over his face as he checked her head for any injuries. 

“Come on up, then.” The man took Emily’s tiny hand and lifted her up to her feet in one strong pull. He patted away the dust clinging to her hair as he said, “You can try again tomorrow. For now, go with the other little’uns for lunch.” 

At the man’s proclamation, Emily’s stomach rumbled meekly. Quinn waited with the rest of the group for Emily to catch up with them. The lithe girl, with smudges of dirt featuring her peppered cheeks, gave Emily a proud smile and offered the kind of praise more credible by an adult. Amid the sweat and dirt that covered the majority of the participants in today’s exercise, the novices remained spirited. Some in the group were slapping the dust that clung to their coats desperately as a sort of game. Thomas came up to the short group, cutting away at the dirtied cloud casually before setting eyes on the group. 

“Get out of here, all of you. Make room for the pros!”

“Ah, does that include you too, Cap’?” Dodge quipped. 

Their leader, leaning back languidly while sparking a cigarette, smirked at that insolent comment, not at all insulted by the minor. 

“Brat,” Thomas tousled the boy’s curly wild hair. “Go on, go eat.”

Before getting lost with the group that filed away into the derelict building, the young Emily stopped in place—Yuri almost ran right into her—before sprinting back to Thomas, fumbling in place. 

“Can I go with them—please?”

The blonde man sported a confused expression upon the former empress’ request. “Of course,” Thomas reassured, brows rising in surprise. “Stick with Quinn—if you can! I’ll find you later for dinner, princess!”

For once, Emily couldn’t hold back the excitement behind her rare smile. It was small but genuine. “Thank you!” She cried as she twisted around to dart straight back to her new companions, swiftly embraced into the dirty swarm. 

Thomas watched after the small girl, unable to define the warmth inside his heart. Before the words left his lips, Thomas sensed Rinaldo at his side immediately, alert as always. Under the bright light of the morning the man’s eyes shined with amusement. 

“Happy to see her outside.” Rinaldo performed a quick flurry with his blade, a warm-up. “I’m sure no one is more happier than the boss though.” 

“Don’t let him catch you saying that out loud.”

\--

The few Whalers managing themselves in the mess hall didn’t bother to observe the tinier group of novices noisily crowding towards the center long table snatching at sandwiches and assorted fruits left by Domenico. Anyone would have noticed a bright glimmering addition to the small assembly had they not been in a hurry to get outside to start training or jump across broken rooftops for contracts. 

Emily was too lost in such an energetic company to remind herself to shrink at the sight of passing Whaler masks. She started nipping at her selected sandwich in contrast to Yuri eating her breaded meal rapidly, like if someone was going to snatch it away from the small girl. Emily didn’t know what to make of the trainee’s change in behavior, but decided not to address it. 

“We got chores to do until dinner,” Dodge said in passing. The young boy grimaced while picking out seeds from his peeled orange. 

“Chores,” Emily tried the word. She’s never had chores before. It was always etiquette, history, and societal customs for the former empress to expend her time into. “What kind of chores do you have to do?”

“Simple stuff,” Quinn mouthed between bites. She snatched an apple from the center table of fruits and shoving it in her coat pocket for later bites. “Some of us have cooking duties later too, but everyone does their part! Even Master Daud cooks for us sometimes!” The energized girl clapped her hands together before jumping off the crowded bench to depart, looking back at Emily. 

“Want me to walk you back to your room?”

“Actually.” Heart racing, but nonetheless Emily was resilient to remain out of that room as long as possible. Bracing for rejection, Emily made her request: “C-can I go?” 

That caught several children off guard, even Yuri looked at the former noble mid sandwich, honey brown eyes wide with a new source of wonder. 

“You sure you can handle it?” Dodge added in after an awkward moment of silence. “Work usually takes us until sundown.”

“I want to help!” Emily pled further, trying to affirm her usefulness. 

Walter, who was sitting next to Emily during their private conversation, made a sign of interruption and tugging Emily gently by her shoulder jacket as a way of giving her request credibility. 

“It is fine. Hurry up and show her the way.” Walter signed swiftly, ending what Dodge will later admit to be a rather aimless debate. 

And that was how Emily found herself with a handful of blisters glittering her once prim fingers as she continued to mop down an empty hallway with Quinn at the other end wiping at cracked windows. Outside, the sun was getting lost in the broken clouds above as the afternoon became shrouded under a somber mood. The soap and water spreading across the flooring reflected bleak clouds as Emily stepped over the illusionary sky and mopped at random areas. Emily was trying to do her best, trying to remember how her chambermaids and servants cleaned her room and completed their duties around the tower. 

A curious part of Emily—one of her best qualities, her mother pointed out—wondered what it was like to work in such manual ways when she was younger. There was a male servant Emily favored growing up, his whimsical faces and the cookies the man brought to Corvo and her were the best. Feeling the need to help one time, Emily tried to copy the young servant’s hands by collecting plates during a public banquet unbeknownst to him, and it earned Emily a tear-inducing rant from the old Royal Spymaster and a few stares from her mother’s guests. Emily never saw the servant again after that despite Corvo’s insistence the young man was put to work in the kitchen. 

Tasks as simple as picking up plates and teacups were never to be touched after by someone like Emily. Another rule hammered into the ten-year old, another constitution to abide by. 

“Emily, you’re mucking up the floor.”

Emily snapped back to Quinn’s voice and looked down at her own footprints littering the once clean floor she just mopped. The little girl groaned in frustration, slapping the mop to the wet floor. 

“Work your way to the stairs walking backwards! Don’t follow the mop, ya’ sop.”

Emily’s face reddened in embarrassment. The palm of her tiny hands started a heartbeat under her blisters. “Sorry,” she apologized, shaking her hands after a while just like Quinn taught her to when her wrists got sore. They still had another floor to clean and laundry to fold, but Emily was determined to prove her worth. 

“Not used to manual labor, ain’t cha?”

“No,” Emily responded in passing, working her way back around to Quinn’s station at the end of the hall, mindful of where she walked this time. “I usually had servants to do these things for me.”

“Must’ve been nice—pampered at yer every whim.”

The sharp comment came from the only person that didn’t seem troubled to give Emily a hard time, and his name was Thomas too. The older boy never went out of his way to directly antagonize Emily. He only gave her trouble when the novices lined up for cleaning supplies handed out by Tynan. He had shoved past the lost Emily, impatient by the younger girl’s ineptness as he grabbed at a mop and rag and led their small group to their assigned floors, not speaking to her further. Emily didn’t know how to treat this new behavior, normally accustomed to people curtsying or regarding her with honorary respect. Questionably there wasn’t any hostility towards Quinn, who mentions later that deep down Thomas was a nice person. 

Several nasty looks sent towards Emily, however, had the girl thinking otherwise. Thankfully the scruffy boy went up to the next floor to mop and clean and didn’t bother to speak to either of them further. 

After a few more mops, Quinn decided that Emily did the best that she could which was more than what the Kaldwin was expecting in terms of praise. They followed down the steps to the very bottom of the stairs that winded back around the mess hall into a minimally large laundry room. Upon entry both Emily and Quinn shivered by the sudden change in temperature that enveloped the two of them. Emily’s cheeks tingled at the steam coming off the mechanical contraptions that were lined at the center of the room, spitting hot water and steam as more clothes thrown in are washed of grime and filth. Already there were people at work separating clothes, washing, and hooking pins to wires that were bolted above where the salty wind could come in and dry the soppy shirts and pants. Emily looked up distractedly as the fabrics danced with the intruding wind, mesmerized by the chaotic display as Quinn tugged her to their assigned corner and threw a pile of random clothes for them to start folding and divide. 

Emily had to watch closely to how Quinn folded the garments, and bundle socks that were to be tossed into a separate bin. It didn’t matter which pile the clothes were put, because the clothes in general were worn by anyone that didn’t bother to wash their own laundry. Emily will nod at Quinn’s rapid advice and wording, doing her best to remember how to keep up in this new establishment. It took a few tries, but eventually Emily managed to fold her piles similar to Quinn—in between tossing sock bundles at each other now and then. 

While carrying piles back and forth to the waiting adults, Emily’s eyes started to droop and that was when she realized she was getting exhausted. The sounds of feet dragging were in fact coming from her, and Quinn had to prop her back up now and then from falling over a warm pile of buttoned shirts. 

“Are we done yet?” Emily let the words slip past her lips before she could regret it. Her eyes were starting to get heavy, and that creaky old bed was a welcoming memory to crawl back to when this was done. 

All these chores didn’t hinder Quinn at all, that wry smile still as a lively as ever. “Just about finished!” Quinn cheered, excited that the daily tasks were for the most part done. She separated for a moment to speak with one of the male adults to let him know they were finished, and ran back to drag a lagging Emily out the steaming room to a cold change of atmosphere. “It’s about time for dinner. If we hurry, I can drop you off with Pavel and Petro before I go to the kitchen.”

Emily couldn’t wait to sit down, making more of an effort to catch after Quinn’s pace with the last thought smoldering in the back of her mind being present amongst a room full of Whalers and strangers. 

The mess hall was packed this time, with crowds of people sitting around with plates and trays being passed around. Clattering forks and howling conversations could be heard all the way from the outside quad area, where stragglers were just now making it back from missions or errands. There were several familiar faces, such as Rinaldo passing through and Galia holding several plates in her arms, but Emily stepped closer to Quinn’s flank, more interested in finding a spot to sit than socialize. 

She’s made enough progress today to warrant a break, ignoring a few awkward stares directed towards her shrinking form as she stuck to Quinn like glue.

Somehow Emily and Quinn found Pavel and Petro amongst the crowd of people filing their way towards the kitchen for dinner. Emily walked right behind Pavel—or Petro—and followed after them as safely as possible through the lines, making herself as small and inconspicuous as possible, as she grabbed a plate and collected anything that piqued her appetite. Together, the small trio had to squeeze their way out of the crowd somehow unscathed. 

“Not as many of people are here tonight.”

Emily found that hard to believe, trying her best not to bump into the wrong person. 

Finally they sat down with Dodge, Walter, Yuri, and a couple of older novices Emily didn’t know, and started eating their meals at their own paces. Dodge started a debate with Walter as soon as his shift was over, signing with vicious rapidness about a book series. Emily couldn’t keep up, and minded her own business, trying to pick apart her pork cutlet. 

“Why do you eat like that?” 

“Hmm?” Emily sounded in surprise. She looked down at herself, unsure what she had done to warrant a criticism from the youngest of the pack. Yuri kept staring at her hands, and then mimicked the former heiress by picking up her own tiny elbows off the table playfully, flipping the fork pointing downwards to the plate in copied refinedness. That’s when Emily understood the complete difference in table manners the rest of the younger kids were taught to behave—or lack of. 

Emily was mystified, her customs leaving her exposed. 

“Is this how they eat in the big towers?”

Emily bit down a sizable chunk off her pork slice, trying to conceal her nervousness. “I think so. My tutors had to teach me a lot of stuff like my gestures, and how to stay still for parties.”

“Did your momma teach you anything?”

“She taught me many things—fun stuff,” Emily answered, lighter this time. The memories of her mother’s love made her chest ache. “She taught me how to draw and write—and dance, too.”

“What about your daddy?”

“I didn’t have a father.” Even as she formulated those words, Emily couldn’t shake a lingering feeling that maybe that wasn’t truly the case. Her mother never spoke a word about Emily’s circumstantial birth, but…

The way Emily’s mother looked at Corvo was like how it was described in the romanticized novels the small heiress read from her private library. 

Yuri, innocent to a fault, did what she could to fix that frown forming on Emily’s face. “That’s okay,” the little Tyvian girl tried. “My daddy left my mommy because of me—or at least that’s what she told me before we left Yaro.”

Walter sidelined the two and signed. Dodge interpreted.

“Walter doesn’t remember his parents. He was stolen from Caulkenny, and was made a slave. Daud saved him before some pervert tried to get rid of him,” Dodge explained. “I was always on my own. I snuck into the back of this building to bum for heat, and Domenico caught me.”

“My mommy and me came here through the Wrenhaven River eight months ago, I think?” Yuri tried. “Then my mommy left me behind for another man.” 

“Our dad died during the plague, so we left before the Overseer’s could spirit us off to Whitecliff,” both Pavel and Petro chimed together in harmony.

“Marco and I got kicked out by our uncle before the plague even started!” Quinn jumped in out of nowhere, startling everyone. Her brother, standing right behind her like a statue, gave a polite wave to Emily. Emily returned the gesture after scooting over so that Quinn can sit right next to her. 

Marco sat across, right between Pavel and Dodge and took out a sketchbook to draw on as he ate his dinner calmly, a contrast to his younger sibling though a tiny bit disheveled as if he just got back. “I hope my sister wasn’t too much trouble, Lady Emily.” 

Ignoring Quinn’s crude facial expression directed at her brother, Emily nodded. “No, Quinn helped me meet a lot of nice people. I’m sorry… if I was rude for not joining everyone sooner.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. A lot of us are pretty scary—especially that one.”

All fingers pointed straight at a shamed Quinn, who balked at their proclamations with theatrical shock.

Emily let out a small giggle despite being tired—and gave Quinn’s older brother another look over. Brownish curly hair, piercing emerald eyes like Quinn, and a recognizable birthmark that reached over the left side of his face like a splash of paint. Emily couldn’t keep her mouth shut as her memories recalled that one day she joined a small group of kids playing with chalk in the middle of the street.

“I remember you. I saw you during my first time out in public with my mother.”

Now it was Marco’s turn to be surprised, his green eyes full of happiness at Emily remembering him at all. “Yep. You ran up to my neighbors and me while we were playing hopscotch.” The young man scratched at his head sheepishly, unable to contain his delight at Emily’s recognition. “We thought we were in trouble when the Royal Protector took you away.”

“I wasn’t supposed to leave our carriage, but I got really excited. I’ve never met other kids like me.” Emily practically vibrated in place. Quinn had to scoot away her drink so Emily didn’t knock it over. 

“I’m glad. We kept your markings until the rain started coming in.” 

Emily smiled, and it was a big smile this time. Taking in her surroundings, Emily compared the stark difference between her own childhood at the tower—and her new life with this band of unnatural assassins. Always alone, even with her mother and Corvo, Emily has never felt the kind of energy and exuberant atmosphere that did not exist in Dunwall tower. There was no one to play with, to gossip with, except for the sparing times afforded by her mother and Corvo. 

_“What about your daddy?”_

That question didn’t sit well in the back of Emily’s mind now that it had time to properly fester with Emily’s mood. If there was anyone in her short childhood that Emily would ever consider a viable father figure in her life, it was Corvo. Unlike many of the other adults that passed her by with the required curtsy or a shallow bow, Corvo provided more than any courtly formality. He held her in his arms when she had nightmares, carried her on his back in the gardens during playtimes, and could read her stories in such a way as if it took place in her own room. The Royal Protector was always there to keep Emily from being consumed by her lonely inheritance, occupying her boredom with duels using sticks, and climbing endeavors around the Watergate. 

Emily didn’t know who her father was, and she probably never will. Her mother’s biggest secret now ferried into the Void’s embrace, never to be shared with the one person who needed the answer the most. 

_Thanks to…_

Emily smoldered the small flame of anger deep inside her heart. She didn’t want to disappoint her mother. 

Deciding it best to be lost with her new companions high spirits and welcoming respite, Emily allowed herself to slowly forget her loss as she enjoyed the table games Dodge introduced to the table. Eventually, Emily’s started to feel the aftereffects of her chores, realizing her head was drooping past her shoulders, releasing a series of long yawns—until Emily’s head dropped down to her plate and she felt the Void drag her without resistance into a blissful dream. 

\--

Looking over his shoulder to see young Lady Emily passed out at the table, Daud watched carefully while Leonid bolts from her seat and collects Emily into her arms. 

There is a rapid exchange of words between Leonid and several of the younger novices before Daud is eventually presented with his unconscious ward. Assuming it to be from being outside for so long, a lot of strenuous exercises and physical labors, Daud had little worry that anything was seriously wrong with her. Just to be sure, the assassin places the back of his hand over Emily’s cradled head to check for any fever—any abnormality at all, now that he could proper check on her usually fidgeting form—before permitting Leonid to return her to her apartment room for some due rest. 

If he were being true to himself, Daud never believed in the spritely Quinn to succeed whereas his most skilled captains failed in getting the usurped empress out of that blasted room. He didn’t expect to hear Emily getting along with the novices, listening to Rinaldo’s lessons, or interacting with anyone associated under his name in general. He never expected to find the little girl playing amongst his students and being accepted a little too quickly. The former noble had to be quite a culture shock to the younger ones, but Daud could detect the unalloyed acceptance across their faces. 

Thankfully the little girl’s lightened spirit wasn’t dampened by his presence, as he sat two tables down from the novice’s and away from her peripheral surveillance. Usually on high alert whenever she was greeted with food and a welfare check, the raven-haired noble was lost in laughter and woven in more suitable company in terms of age group. 

“You have such a _lovely_ smile, Daud,” came Billie’s snippy little comment from across his table, cutting down Daud’s moment of thought. On either side of his second-in-command, Thomas was too consumed in his food and Galia was pinching Akila’s freckled brown cheeks as playful banter between their private discussion. Privately, Daud reclines his guard during small moments like these, hiding the subtle comfort he relished with his crew from their typical nosiness. 

Daud’s complacency turned into a defensive scowl. “I am not smiling.”

Billie remained unfazed. She threw him a toothy smirk, “Sure, old man. Just remember our leverage suits us better as long as she still looks like a noble.” That tone of voice appeared playful, but that thick underlying reminding—along with a quick cold glance towards Emily, Daud surmised—didn’t get past her leader’s notice. 

“She did good on today’s training, boss,” Thomas provided a mouthful report between chews. Leonid returned by this time, scowling at her partner’s display, trying to read her novel as she inclined against Daud’s side. Daud listened while Thomas provided, “Made it as far as the third legging. Kid’s a natural light-foot.”

“Master Daud,” Rinaldo hailed Daud, holding his empty tumbler in consideration. The man’s usual choice was strictly water and foreign sodas, content without the taste for liquor. “Walter and Dodge are ready. Quinn, too.”

Daud took Rinaldo’s assessment to heart. He will have to find time to properly perform the Arcane Bond onto the novices when everyone is present, where all who share his mark can witness the ritual. 

The mark of the Outsider. 

Daud left his long black gloves in his quarters, allowing the bare skin of his hands to breathe and relax, his Mark visibly naked for wandering eyes. He gazed at the black inscription with a vague disdain. 

“You’re positive Quinn’s ready?”

“Great shot with the wristbow. Passed all the tests from last month, and believe it or not she’s as quiet and adept to the shadows as young Thomas.”

Daud’s left hand makes a reflexive clench, the mark remaining inert. “I will have to pick a day to properly induct them. Where is Misha?”

“She just got back—with the debt payment.”

Daud let out a small breath of relief, a sentimental worry along with it. 

Maybe, Daud thought. Maybe these juveniles will do just fine, if anything were to ever happen to their witch leader. 

His lieutenants finally leaving him alone at last with his dinner, Daud inwardly ponders to himself as he deciphers if what he was currently eating to be either mashed potatoes or a rice paste. The master assassin thinks back to the paperwork in need of attention, a board that needed to be cleaned out and re-pinned with new contracts, Whaler activity to log away. Fisher and Montgomery informed Daud through Thomas his presence was required, in need of specific supplies in anticipation of the plague reaching their doors. Fergus, the reclusive madman, somehow came out of the Armory holding and showed up in person while Knife was away from his office, leaving behind a scratched up note even Daud had difficulty interpreting:

_“Bring me the following items below—also food! Please!”_

There was also the sketch picture of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin that needed to be taken down, inked with a big red crossed circle to stick her face out more so, along with a public poster pertaining to the eventual execution of her former Royal Protector. 

Corvo Attano. 

The haunting reminder of the man who will take Daud’s crime straight to the gallows wasn’t the only headache keeping him up at night. Daud won’t admit to anyone but himself, but the master assassin has been thinking for the longest time, and the idea of breaking into Coldridge prison to rescue the disgraced bodyguard was starting to appeal to Daud’s moral conscience. 

Daud does not share his intentions to anyone—not even Billie or Thomas. Apparently several of his lieutenants have been gossiping about their illustrious leader getting stir crazy since the assassination of the empress—as Thomas put it kindly. 

The next few months flicker on with little complication, and gradually Emily’s talents start to shine through Rinaldo’s rigorous training. The little girl is keen to the obstacles and remarkably patient contrast to the tinier moments of frustration when she does not succeed after awhile. Without her notice, Daud watches from a shadowed distance, as the little girl is exercises the wristbow attached to her right arm. Quinn is there to help her strap it on properly, concealing the weapon using the cuff of her coat. From an outsider’s perspective, anyone would have seen Emily as yet another progeny of Daud, a novice assassin that will be capable of withstanding the underworld of Dunwall someday, none the wiser to her true pedigree. This notion leaves the man hopeful that maybe, just maybe Emily Kaldwin might indeed fair better should she continue training. 

During the Month of Wind, Daud managed the strength to make his way to her apartment room, hoping for another—futile, in the end—conversation and maybe a lesson with the Whalers blade. Rinaldo had reported the little Kaldwin was having issues handling the sword; there was no need for explanation as to why the sudden handicap. 

Daud got cold feet when he made it as far as the fourth floor—witnessing just in time Marco, Quinn, and Dodge pushing several mattresses into Emily’s room. Beyond his view, sounds of scraping bedframes and furniture grinding against the broken wet floors are audibly coming from the apartment room. 

_By the Void, what are they doing?_

Daud is left baffled as he makes direct eye contact with Marco, demanding an explanation.

Marco gave Daud a hard, desperate look. “Do not interfere—please!”

Daud advanced on the Whaler, intent on seeing for himself what was being done to Emily’s room. He inspected inside and saw five mattresses laid at the center of the large apartment room like a star, with several lanterns, books, and soft pillows scattered around the area. The change of furnishing lit up the entire room immensely, it didn’t look as lonely and barren as it had before. 

“Emily has been having problems sleeping lately, so the kids decided to move into her room since it was so spacious. We’ve been moving stuff all morning,” Marco updated his leader from over his shoulder. “… I really want my own room, too.”

Daud was beyond what else Marco was trying to say to him, as the man was completely entranced by the display of Lady Emily cheerfully roughhousing with Quinn and Dodge while Pavel and Petro ran around the room in a game of chase. Emily and Quinn jumped over Dodge, suffocating the poor boy before Marco is there to save him. Quinn pulls Emily into a bear hug, before the raven haired girl wiggles away and throws a pillows at random. 

Daud leaves before his presence sours the moment, before the laughter dies and the little girl is reminded of the man who took her from her sheltered home. He walks away and holds this moment in his memory, igniting a renewed resolve to ensure his past mistakes will never affect those around him, not again. He’ll be smarter, less brash, and keep his hands clean from innocent blood. 

Maybe now Emily Kaldwin won’t be entirely alone. 

For now, Daud has a Royal Protector to break out of Coldridge Prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Corvo!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for stopping by to read my writing. Reviews and kudos are much appreciated as always. This is my first ever series to write, so I'm really excited to get started on this because it's been bugging me ever since I played Dishonored.


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